An Ever-Fixed Mark
by sueinnm
Summary: On the morning of his birthday feast, Loki is reminded that some love is eternal. Set before the events of Thor.


_**An Ever-fixed Mark**_

_**A story of Loki and Frigga**_

Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken ….

-William Shakespeare

It was always a private celebration, the morning of Loki's birth-day feast. It was a time when he had no need to feign camaraderie with Thor's loud, crude companions of choice, such as Volstagg and Fandral. He need not endure his brother's natural tendency to draw all eyes to him and claim the attention that should, by right, be Loki's alone. He could consider the words he would use to best those who expected exactly what they would get: barbed jests, mockery, and sly insinuations that would redden the faces of even the most jaded warriors.

Here, on Frigga's balcony, overlooking the most glorious palaces of Asgard, Loki could set aside such defenses. He had no need of them

He smiled and turned as she came up behind him, catching her soft and gentle hand in his.

"Mother," he said, raising her fingers to his lips.

"My son." She smiled with that radiance that so easily captured the hearts of every man and woman in the city, but it was a smile meant only for him, a secret they shared as they had shared hours in study, the practice of magic and the subtle work of the dagger. "I wish you the most joyous of days."

Loki tucked her arm through his and guided her through the open doorway and into her outer chamber, where servants had laid out a breakfast of fruits, savory bread, the most delicate cuts of meat and morning wine. He held her chair as he sat and took the one on the opposite side of the table. All the while she gazed at him with that secret smile, pride in her eyes.

Pride he never saw in Odin's, though he'd hungered all his life to catch that glimpse of unqualified and benevolent approval. The benevolence that so easily fell on Thor like a soft rain in spring. Approval Loki was due as a prince of Asgard, Odin's younger son, who had fought beside Thor with just as much courage and skill as Asgard's champion.

"You brood, my son," Frigga said, stretching her hand across the table to cover his. "This is no day for sour faces."

"Your pardon, Mother," Loki said lightly, grasping her fingers. "You're quite right. I was consumed with self-pity."

She was too wise not to hear how he fended off the possibility of mockery with self-mockery of his own. She shook her head.

"Loki, Loki. You are, as ever, too harsh in your judgment of your own nature. You were comparing yourself to Thor once again, were you not?"

He could never lie to her, even if he wished it. "Is it so strange, Mother? Thor is the standard by which all other men of Asgard are judged."

"I would rather have thought that would be your father," Frigga said.

"Even worse," Loki said, releasing her hand and leaning back in his chair with casual negligence. "I might one day have some hope of living up to my brother."

"How many times must I remind you that your father loves you?"

Loki crossed his ankles and idly fingered the stem of his wine glass. "I would never contradict you, Queen of Asgard."

She laughed. "Oh, never." She raised a fork to her lips and set it down again without touching the food. "He hasn't the way of showing affection that other fathers do. His burdens are greater than any other man's. There are many things he would do if he were not so burdened, many things he might say."

Loki swallowed the quip on his tongue. He tried to remember that last time Odin had actually spoken the words that came so easily to Frigga. He managed to find time to praise Thor's prowess, and even to—

"Eat, Loki," Freya said. "I had them prepare your favorites, and this is our time together. Do not spoil it."

For once her voice was firm, the voice of the mother who had gently scolded her boys, dark and fair, separating them when they quarreled, soothing their hurts, always there, always steady and certain in her devotion.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he said, straightening. He chose a ripe pear and bit into it. He knew it had come from her own small, precious orchard, tended by the most skilled of gardeners. "Delicious, as always."

"I'm pleased." She relaxed and took a small sip of her wine. Still she wouldn't eat, and Loki sensed her hesitation was not because of anything he'd said but due to the excitement that sparkled in her eyes.

Quelling his own anticipation, Loki worked his way through breakfast with deliberation, teasing Frigga with a half-smile above the rim of his goblet. Abruptly she rose and crossed the room, toying with the fringe of a tapestry, testing the cleanliness of a table with the tip of her finger.

"Are you seeking a new occupation, Mother?" Loki asked, setting down his glass. "There must be room for a new maid among the ranks of cleaning servants."

He was the only one who could or would say such thins to the Queen of Asgard, but it was an old game, this prodding at a woman who could hardly ever be angered except by some insult to her husband and sons, or an injustice to anyone, however humble, in need of her protection.

"At times, I think I could make better work of it," Freya said, clucking softly. "I did, after all, occasionally wipe your noses and bottoms when you were boys."

Loki winced broadly. "I prefer not to remember such humiliating events," he said.

"But _I_ wish to," she said softly, gliding back toward him. "Every one of those memories is precious to me. As you are." She cupped his cheek in her hand and bent to kiss his forehead. He closed his eyes, bathed in her warmth, her unconditional love and devotion to the one no other Asgardians could seem to understand. Any more than he understood himself.

Suddenly the tender touch of her hand was gone, and he opened his eyes. She was smiling openly now, mischievous, challenging him to remain indifferent to the surprise she obviously held in store for him. Every year it was something unique: A black, leggy stallion to complement his own coloring and form; vambraces intricately cast with designs of twining serpents and branches; a casket of the finest wine of the rarest vintage in all the Nine Realms.

Today would be no different. And he felt his heartbeat begin to speed, just as if he were a child again. A child who still didn't yet understand how two brothers could be so different, and how one could fall so short of their father's exacting standards.

He was always more than good enough for Frigga.

"Shall we walk in the garden?" he asked, rising to offer her his arm again.

"By all means." She laid his hand on his forearm, and together they descended the stairs to the ground floor and the portico that opened into Frigga's private garden. It was filled with hundreds of flowering plant collected from many Realms, each of them thriving under the care of her servants and her own loving hands.

"You have outdone yourself this year, Mother," he said, wondering if his gift lay among the rustling leaves and brilliant blossoms. "You can make the barest twigs grow without resorting to even the simplest magic."

"Sometimes it is more satisfying to keep things simple," she said. "That is a lesson, my son, that I think you have never learned."

Loki was careful not to let his muscles stiffen or his expression change. "You once said you were at a loss to decide who was more stubborn, I or Thor."

"Your brother was ever obvious in his stubbornness," she said, looking up into Loki's face. "You … are seldom obvious in anything."

"Thank you, Mother."

Frigga sighed. "What am I to do with you, Loki?"

"Be as you always have been," he said, turning her gently to face him. "The keeper of my soul." He laughed at his own conceit. "Very well, my Queen. Don't keep me in suspense. Where is it?"

With a little hop, as if she, too, had become again the child she once had been millennia ago, she whispered a spell. A box of rare silverwood appeared in the air between them, half again as long as Loki's hand. Loki took it, admiring the carving that pulsed with subtle magic of its own. It depicted a female wolf fiercely guarding her two cubs, one fair and broad, one dark and lean.

"You _will_ insist on watching over us," he said, "no matter how old we are."

"And will continue to do so," she said, meeting his gaze. "You will never be quite rid of me, my son."

Loki swallowed. "If you fail to keep that promise," he said, "I shall have no choice but to turn your favorite maid into a bilgesnipe."

"I fear that may be an improvement, considering how often distracted she is by the men who pursue her for her beauty."

"Be grateful Fandral hasn't found her."

"In Bor's name, open it!"

Slowly, almost reverently, Loki opened the lid of the box. Inside, nestled in velvet, were two matched daggers, incomparable in their beauty. Loki lifted one of them out of the box with great care, weighed it in his palm, admired it from all angles.

"Magnificent, Mother," he said. "Perfectly balanced."

"I'm so glad you like them." She clasped her hands together. "Please, try them."

Loki removed the tooled leather and silver sheathes and fixed them to his crossbelts. He slid both daggers into place, prepared himself, and drew both in one swift motion, spinning around in the same moment to slash at an invisible enemy. The daggers were like extensions of his hands, and he needed no magic to wield them with deadly accuracy.

Suddenly Frigga was there before him, her own daggers drawn, lunging at his chest. He leaped back with a laugh, danced out of her path, and crouched to slash up toward her slender waist. Like a swallow she whirled away, her blades following her graceful motion, and Loki narrowly missed suffering the inconvenience of a tear in his favorite tunic.

As quickly as it had begun, the skirmish was over. Freya laughed breathlessly, sheathing her own blades in the folds of her robes.

"I am grateful I am not your enemy, Loki," she said, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

"Never," Loki said, touching her cheek with his fingertips. "But anyone who would make themselves your enemy will never know a quick death."

"Sometimes you frighten me," she said, searching his eyes.

He withdrew with a grin. "I wonder if I frighten anyone else but bilgesnipes, and perhaps the occasional jotun."

"Oh, my son." She leaned her forehead against his chest. "You are so much more powerful than you know."

"In this you underestimate me, my Queen. I know very well, in spite of my deceptive humility."

"But do you know what comes with power?"

"Will you let me forget?"

"Certainly not." She glanced skyward. "I can feel that the morning is nearly over."

"And I shall have to face the trials of battle," he said, taking her arm again. "Thor will see to that."

"Which you will win, as always, with words as your weapons."

Loki smiled crookedly. "If you say so, Mother."

They returned to her chamber, where the servants had already cleared away the meal save for a little of the wine. Frey a moved to the table and lifted her glass.

"To you, my son," she said, lifting her glass with an uncommonly grave expression on her lovely face. "To your happiness."

With a slight bow, Loki raised his own glass. "And to your everlasting health."

They drank together, but Loki barely tasted the wine.

"And now you must go to prepare," Frigga said. "As must I." She took both his hands in hers. "I shall see you tonight."

Bowing again, Loki freed himself and strode toward the door. Freya called after him.

"Whatever Thor and his companions may say or do," she said, "remember they only tease. Thor needs you, needs your wise counsel. And he loves you. We all love you."

Loki paused in the doorway without looking back. His heart ached the way it did only in the presence of those few _he_ loved. He felt as if the pain would tear him apart.

"I won't forget," he said. He closed the door quietly behind him and walked through Frigga's suite, not slowing until he reached the outer corridor. The einherjar standing guard straightened and saluted, but he hardly saw them. By some trick of the palace (acoustics, he could hear Thor laughing and brawling with Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun and Sif in another courtyard.

Yes, Thor needed his counsel, for the sake of Asgard. But not in any other way. Thor might love his brother, but only as he might love a puppy following at his heels, ever available when he felt prone to casual affection.

Loki stopped abruptly, listening to the receding echo of his footsteps. He did his brother a disservice, as difficult as it was to admit. Thor did love him, as he loved Thor. They would die for each other, and had nearly done so more than once. But Thor never seemed to realize that his puppy might bite. For the sake of Asgard.

But as long as Frigga loved her youngest son, as long as she believed in him, he might choose to hide his teeth. Until he had no other choice.

_Live forever, Mother_, he told her silently. _Guard my soul. I should hate to lose it_.

He touched the daggers under his coat, smoothed his tunic, and smiled with anticipation. For the first time in many days, he was happy. No matter what he did or whatever he became, Frigga would always love him.

"Beware, Brother," he said. "I am ready for you."

And he laughed.


End file.
